


The Lies We Tell Ourselves

by everydaysoul



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Double Penetration, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Organized Crime, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7419571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everydaysoul/pseuds/everydaysoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaw is a mob boss, and Erik’s one of his top men. </p><p>Charles is Shaw’s favorite rentboy, and every week it’s Erik’s job to pick Charles up and deliver him to Shaw’s room, where he stands guard outside the door and oh god, he listens. Listens as Shaw beats the shit out of Charles before fucking him senseless, and it never gets any easier.</p><p>Nothing is what it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Charles is waiting in his usual spot – the park overlooking the bay, third bench from the tallest pine tree along the pathway. He’s dressed in a pale blue sweater and jeans, his long brown hair falling prettily over his ears in soft waves.

Erik can see why Shaw finds him attractive. Charles is small and lean, skin pale and unblemished from a sheltered life lived mostly indoors. Erik sometimes thinks Charles reminds him of a delicate porcelain doll, exquisite and beautiful and terribly  _breakable_.

When Erik drives up, Charles walks over and hops in the back with familiar ease. Erik does his customary check for any metal on Charles, finds only the brass of his jeans buttons and zipper, then looks into the rearview mirror as he turns the car around and heads back into the city. Their eyes meet briefly and Charles offers him an easy smile.

“Hi, Erik,” Charles says. He’s fiddling with the sleeves of his sweater as he speaks; Erik’s noticed that Charles has a habit of fidgeting whenever he gets agitated, like his mind is racing too fast for him to keep still. “How have you been?”

“Good.” Erik pauses as he makes a sharp turn at a signal, letting the hum of all the metal in the cars surrounding them wash over him in peaceful, soothing waves. “How about you?”

“I’ve been keeping myself busy.” Charles finally relaxes marginally, his hands falling to rest in his lap. He sounds a little wistful as he goes on. “I picked up new books a few days ago on theories of evolutionary psychology. It’s incredibly fascinating, reading about how the human brain’s evolved within different societies and cultures.”

He has such slim, slender fingers, Erik thinks. The smooth hands of a young man who likely grew up in comfort, who never had to kill anyone to survive. Pristine, undefiled.

Erik glances at his own hands clenched on the wheel. They’re callused and rough, tiny scars over the ridges of bony knuckles, still slightly misshapen where Shaw once experimentally fractured his bones to see if he could still manipulate metals with broken hands.

That was years ago when Erik was fifteen and terrified, and would have done anything to please Shaw. He still remembers trying so hard not to cry from the pain, hot and throbbing unlike anything he ever felt before, and artlessly crushing the tray of steel surgical forceps set out in front of him into a ball of useless scrap. 

Shaw had been  _delighted._  Erik had been forced to practise it over and over again, until he could work through the agony before allowing the doctor to set his bones back into place.

Some things don’t change.

“You should have gone to university,” Erik says.

Charles laughs wryly. “I did. But circumstances in life dictated that I leave halfway through my second year, so I did.”

He falls silent, and Erik doesn’t press him for more details. Instead he focuses on the road and tries to ignore the guilt that tears at his insides, and lowers the volume on the radio when he notices Charles starting to nod off against the tinted car window.

Erik wonders if it’ll ever stop feeling like he’s sending Charles to his death.

Later, when they arrive at the luxury condo Shaw owns right in the middle of the city, Erik will lead Charles up to the penthouse suite and into the bedroom where Shaw will be waiting for him. And they’ll exchange superficial pleasantries, and Shaw will make his usual crude remarks about how Charles is just a slut, tight ass and full pink lips begging to be fucked – and Erik will politely decline and see himself out, locking the door behind him and pretending he doesn’t care what Shaw’s about to do.

And then hours later, when he’s finally done with Charles, Erik will go back in, find whatever’s left of Charles’ clothes and help him dress, then escort him back down to the car. Drive back to the park to drop him off like Charles isn’t bruised and shaking all over and can barely even walk on his own.

“Will you be picking me up next Saturday too?” Charles’ face is drawn tight, lips curled in a line halfway between his usual quiet smile and a pained grimace. His eyes are still bright, hopeful and trusting and somehow unsullied by the taint of Shaw’s filth, and Erik wants to look away.

“Yes. I’ll see you then, Charles.”

Erik doesn’t look back as he drives away.

 

 

 

 

Erik's always been a light sleeper. So when he wakes up just after five to a familiar sound in his living room and a loud rap on his door, his first instinct is to grab hold of the copper ashtray sitting on his bedside table before he realizes who it is.

He looks at the clock and curses loudly. “It’s five in the fucking morning, what do you want? You’re lucky I hadn’t shot that ashtray right through the wall into your thick skull.”

“Lensherr,” Azazel’s voice says, sounding amused, “We got our mole, Shaw wants you down in the club now.”

Erik swears again, pulling himself out of bed and striding over to the door to open it a crack, not giving a damn if Azazel’s going to see him in shorts. The bastard’s just going to have to deal with it if he’s making it a habit of teleporting uninvited into Erik’s house in the middle of the night.

“Give me a minute to put some clothes on first,” Erik growls, and slams the door shut again on Azazel’s stupid red face.

“You’re in a good mood this morning.”

“Fuck you.”

“ _Shaw_ ’s in a good mood today,” Azazel calls through Erik’s door as he’s digging through his closet for an appropriate shirt. “Did anything happen while I was away?”

Charles, Erik thinks. It’s sick, but Shaw’s always more placid after he’s done unleashing his temper on Charles, like he gets off on  _hurting_  him.

“Nothing unusual,” Erik snaps back, suddenly irritated. There’s finally blessed quiet as Erik gets dressed and combs wet fingers through his sleep-ruffled hair, and when he finally feels more presentable he steps out and makes a beeline for the tiny kitchen, ignoring Azazel lounging casually on the couch.

He grabs a mug, fills it at the sink. The water is cold, hurting his teeth as he gulps it down and making him wish for a good cup of coffee, but he’s not going to risk Shaw getting impatient this early in the morning. He wonders if he can convince Azazel to drop him off at the nearby coffee shop when they’re finished with whatever fucked up shit Shaw wants them for this time.

“Ready?” Azazel says.

Erik sets his cup down on the edge of the sink and nods, and lets Azazel reach out for his shoulder.

Their mole turns out to be a young man with stringy hair and bad tattoos. Shaw’s already broken both his knees when they arrive.

Erik doesn’t catch the kid’s name and only half-listens as they tell him how they found him, instead staring at the way he’s still glaring at them in defiance. At last he scowls and turns to fix Shaw with his own baleful frown.

“I don’t see how I’m needed here,” Erik says.

“Erik, my boy,” Shaw says, disapproval in his tone, and Erik fucking hates that nickname which means Shaw will never stop using it with him, “You  _are_  here for a reason.”

Erik waits for Shaw to elaborate but when he doesn’t, he shrugs. “I still don’t see it. You seem to be handling everything fine on your own.”

Shaw laughs and claps him on the back. “I was just thinking that it’s been a long time since I last saw a demonstration of your interrogation techniques. This young man we have here – he’s one of the Westchester gang, and it would make my day if you could dig out a little more information out of him. You know what I want.”

Erik bites back a sigh. It’s way too early for this but it’s not like he has a choice.

“I’ll do it,” he says.

Shaw comes up from behind him and presses something small and cool into his palm. It’s a coin, and Erik levitates it in the air, neatly splits it into two equal halves so it forms twin balls of gleaming silver.

“Take your time,” Shaw suggests, and settles back to watch.

Erik resigns himself to yet another morning spent in Shaw’s repulsive presence, draws in a deep breath, and begins. He’s long discovered that it’s usually easier for him to concentrate if he pretends Shaw isn’t standing by, watching him with barely-disguised glee.

He’s never enjoyed causing pain the way Shaw does, but he can’t afford to be too merciful with Shaw watching him. He toys with the kid for as long as he dares to, draws a few screams out of him until he senses Shaw clicking his tongue in impatience.

“Kill him,” Shaw says, and Erik does.

“Is there anything else you need me to do?” Erik asks blandly.  

“That was a complete waste of my time,” Shaw says, ignoring him. “Azazel, get someone to clean up that mess, will you?”

Erik reforms the silver back into a clean, blank coin and tosses it back at Shaw as Azazel disappears in a flash of red. Shaw catches it and pats the seat next to him, inviting Erik to sit down.

“I honestly don’t think they’re a threat at all, considering their recent change in leadership,” Erik says. “But it does sound like they’re working on expanding their territory.”

Shaw makes a derisive sound. “They’re barely hanging on as it is. I’ll like to see how far they can go with the few weak mutants they have.”

“I still think it would be better not to underestimate them,” Erik says. “We could send a few teams out, have them scope out their known territories to take note of their actual strength, then plan an ambush to take them all out altogether while we have the advantage.”

“You sound like you’re keen on spilling some blood yourself. I’ll put you in charge of this mess, then.”

Erik inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Sebastian,” he says. The name feels foul on his tongue.

“I’ll let you know when we’re ready,” Shaw says, and affectionately pets Erik on the head when he stands up to leave.

 

 

 

Charles is standing in front of him at the checkout.

There’s a little old lady between them, and it’s so fucking odd to see Charles like this. Dressed smartly in a button-down and pressed pants, talking to the girl working the register as she rings up his stuff – some fancy-looking granola cereal, a bag of apples, cheese and a bright green package of something – and then the girl’s going pink, a hand fluttering up to her mouth as Charles breaks out into an unashamed grin.

He’s fucking  _flirting_  with her.

Erik freezes, and he’s not sure if he’s just taken aback by suddenly meeting Charles like this, here at the tiny corner store just down the road from his apartment out of all places, so far from where Erik usually picks him up from – or if he’s ridiculously, inexplicably unhappy that this is a side of Charles he’s never seen before. 

The Charles he knows has always been polite and docile and quiet. And it's not envy that he feels, watching Charles gesture about animatedly.

Charles doesn’t seem to have noticed him. Erik could just slip away, lurk among the aisles until Charles leaves, but-

“Erik!”

“Charles,” Erik says, nodding fractionally in acknowledgement.

The girl hands over Charles’ change and he turns away for a moment to say something to her. Then he gathers up his things, moves a bit to one side out of the way, clearly waiting for Erik.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” Erik says to him as the cashier greets the old woman in front of him, starting to scan her basket of groceries.

Charles shrugs. He’s staring at Erik again, bright piercing eyes that seem so painfully honest, “It’s okay. I’m not in a hurry to be anywhere else.”

The girl behind the register keeps glancing at Charles, clearly smitten by him. It feels like a few long minutes pass before she’s counting up Erik’s change for him and he’s ready to leave. And through it all Charles just stands there, still waiting, a ready smile on his face whenever Erik looks his way.

They’re not friends, barely more than acquaintances, really. It just so happens that Erik works for the mobster who likes hiring Charles for a quick, brutal fuck every weekend. He doesn’t get why Charles seems so pleased to see him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Charles says as Erik comes up to him, “Do you live nearby?”

Erik hesitates – Charles is probably harmless, but he’s still an escort who gets fucked for a living and there’s no telling who might want him next – but nods anyway. “What are you doing here?”

“I was visiting my sister,” Charles says. “She lives somewhere around here, too – I was just on my way back home.”

They walk out together, the bell chiming as the glass doors slide open and they’re immediately assailed by a gust of cold wind. It’s already getting dark.

“How did you get here?” Erik asks, partly out of curiosity, partly to be polite.

“I took the bus,” Charles says vaguely, then grins. “Was that an offer to drive me home? That’s kind of you, and if it was, I would accept. I forgot my jacket and it’s fucking freezing out here.”

“You talk a lot,” Erik blurts out, saying the first thought that pops into his head and instantly feels stupid at how ridiculous he sounds.

“That’s what my sister tells me all the time. She says I babble.” Charles looks sheepish, then adds, “Her name’s Raven. I think you might get along with her very well, she gets the same look on her face like you have now.”

“I don’t,” Erik starts, then realizes Charles is grinning broadly at him again. He ducks his head to hide his own smile and composes himself. “I walked here, but my apartment’s just down the block. If you don’t mind walking back with me, I could send you home.”

“Of course,” Charles says easily, quickly falling into step next to Erik as he crosses the pavement with long, broad strides.

They’ve never spoken much before. Erik never quite developed the skill for small talk – never actually felt the need to, not when he’s spent most of his life honing his powers, learning to kill and torture people for Shaw –  so he stays quiet and lets Charles chatter on and on as they walk.

And Charles doesn’t seem to mind, like he can sense Erik’s awkwardness and doesn’t bug him to contribute to the one-sided conversation, apparently satisfied with Erik’s hmms and quiet oh’s whenever Charles pauses to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry, I hope I’m not boring you,” Charles says, when they stop at a crossing; Erik’s apartment is just across the road now.

“No, you aren’t,” Erik says. Charles has a pleasant voice, a mild accent that sometimes bleeds through his words whenever he gets excited. Erik doesn’t know how he’s never noticed it before. “I’ll have to go up to get my keys, do you want to come along or just wait downstairs?”

He’s almost tempted to invite Charles in for dinner. But then he remembers Azazel and the way the red-skinned bastard’s been popping over unannounced, Erik’s irritated “Use the fucking phone, it was invented for a good reason,” falling on deaf pointy ears every time. And then – he feels his insides going cold – it’s a Friday today, which means tomorrow he’ll be driving over to that goddamn park to pick Charles up for Shaw.

“It would be rude of me to let you go up alone,” Charles says. “I’m coming up with you.”

Erik gets his keys and they go back down to the garage, and this time Charles gets into the front passenger seat. Charles rests an arm against the window, watching as Erik swiftly backs out onto the road, then says, “You never wear a seatbelt.”

“I don’t really need it,” Erik says.

Charles frowns. Erik can see the minute shift in his expression before he goes on, “You’re a mutant.”

“Will that be a problem?” Erik says, and he can’t help the iciness that creeps into his tone. 

“Not at all.” Charles pauses. “Raven. My sister. She’s a mutant too. She was adopted, but that didn’t stop our father from throwing her out of the house when her powers manifested. Our mother was in no condition to stop him. So I made a deal with some quite unpleasant people, which is kind of the reason why I’m living the way I am now.”

Erik just only manages to stop himself from crushing all the metal in sight into scrap. “How old was she when it happened?”

“Ten. She’s twenty-one now.”

Eleven years ago. Even now when mutant rights are barely worth anything – a decade ago, nobody would have looked twice if a mutant child got tossed out into the streets to die.

They’re approaching the park now. There aren’t many houses nearby. Erik wonders where Charles actually lives. If he has his own place, or if he’s still stuck with the scum of a father who would abandon a little mutant girl to fend for herself.

He doesn’t even know how old Charles is. He tries to remember the first time they ever met – at the club, Erik sitting with Shaw and Angel in their private room. Cain coming by with Charles, already stripped naked with only a thick collar around his neck. 

He’d dismissed Charles as just another one of the many fucktoys Shaw liked to play with. None of them ever last long. Shaw treats them the way a volatile-tempered child might treat a less treasured possession. Stamp on them, fling them about until they break, then carelessly discard the pieces aside without a second thought.

But Charles hadn’t broken, not even when Shaw was dealing out his absolute worst. And Erik had been intrigued. Fascinated, a little enchanted maybe, but definitely not in love.

“Just drop me off here, I’ll walk the rest of the way back myself,” Charles says.

“Okay.”

Erik lets the car roll to a gentle stop. He doesn’t know what else to say, other than that he wishes things weren’t so spectacularly fucked up the way they are now.

“Erik,” Charles says, quiet, firm, then leans over. “I can hear you thinking, stop it.” And he kisses him on the cheek.

Erik closes his eyes. He’s not surprised, but he’s not sure how to react either. But what he wants - he wants to throw all caution to the wind, grab Charles and pull him into the back. Rip his absurd, posh clothes off and kiss him until neither of them can remember how monumentally stupid they’re being. 

There’s an expanding emotion in his chest that’s definitely not love. “What was that for?”

“Honestly? I don’t know, I just felt like it.” Charles lets out a breathless little laugh. He pulls away, gathers up his things. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow, I hope.”

Erik watches as Charles walks away, a lean figure disappearing into the darkness. He has to remind himself that Charles is just Shaw’s favorite hooker; nothing good will come out of him even feeling any sort of attachment to Charles. One day Shaw’s going to either outright beat Charles to death, or he’ll get bored and move on to the next kid who catches his attention, and life will go on as usual as it always has for Erik.

 

 

 

The next few weeks after that pass in a blur. Shaw recruits a few new mutants into the fold. Erik kills a few more people for him, tortures one or two more and hates himself all the more for it.

Charles comes by every Saturday as usual. One of those visits end in Erik having to physically carry him out of Shaw’s room, because Charles is trembling so badly all he can do is cling feebly to the front of his shirt, Erik stroking his sweaty hair and whispering that everything will be soon all right. 

He still doesn’t know what exactly Shaw does to him when the door’s locked. But the noises he hears... Charles’ muffled cries of pain. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

And he never asks. But it makes him feel sick, and when he gets home, he digs out his strongest bottle of wine and stays up all night going over his plans to destroy Shaw and everything else he’s ever owned along with him.

If Shaw’s noticed anything, he doesn’t show it.

But then it’s Shaw, so Erik knows better than to let his guard down. He keeps up his charade, acts like he’s still the perfect mutant soldier Shaw raised him to be.

Before Charles, Erik used to lie in bed every night, think of every single cruelty Shaw’s inflicted on him before allowing himself to succumb to sleep. Like a mantra he has to recite to keep himself alive and sane; his mother, his entire fucking life. The very first time Shaw discovered he could trigger Erik’s awakening powers with torture.

But now he lies in the darkness and thinks of Charles. Sometimes he thinks of all the injustice Charles has been through. Goes to sleep angry and bitter, waking up feeling thoroughly unsettled - but most of the time he just thinks of Charles. He thinks of finally putting that coin through Shaw’s head, of whisking Charles away, far away that nobody will recognize them. Where Charles will be safe.

And then it all goes to shit.

“You should join us, Erik,” Shaw says.

Erik freezes with one hand already on the door – his job here is done for now, he’s brought Charles here for whatever violence Shaw has in store for him and all he wants to do is to get away. Pretend that Charles will be all right and that he doesn't care. 

Charles, who’s now sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes lowered in humiliation. He’s still fully dressed, thank god.

“Erik,” Shaw says, and Erik wants to murder him right _now_ , fuck the million safeguards Shaw’s set up in case anyone ever betrays him. “Come on. Think of it as my way of rewarding you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“It’s okay,” Erik says, and it feels like there's ash settling bitter and heavy in his mouth when he roughly jerks a thumb in Charles’ direction. “He’s yours, I couldn’t dream of touching him even if you asked me to.”

“Always so uptight, my little Erik.” Shaw laughs. “But I insist. Lock the door, I don’t want anyone interrupting us. We’ll fuck him together. He won’t even put up much of a fight, will you Charles?”

“Of course not,” Charles says, his voice mild and quiet and makes Erik’s blood boil in his veins.

“And you won’t even hurt him,” Shaw continues. He walks over to Charles, pushes him down until he’s lying down in an awkward sprawl. “He opens up beautifully. Remind me to show you how well he takes a fist up his ass, Erik – look at him.”

Erik looks. Charles is staring right back at him, expressionless despite Shaw’s hand cupping his cock. Charles is beautiful, he realizes. He makes up his mind.

“Okay,” Erik says, and lets the door swing shut.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Go ahead,” Shaw says to Erik. Gestures toward the bed, half-distracted, his attention already focused so wholly on Charles now that Erik feels a little sick.

Erik gets up on the bed, leans back against the headboard, and turns around to watch. His hands curl up into fists; he’s still not sure what to expect. If Shaw will want him actively participate in Charles’ torment, or if he’ll be content with Erik just being a voyeur until Shaw decides it’s time to fuck Charles.

“So,” Shaw says, with all the flourish of a magician about to perform a particularly horrible trick, “Charles. Let’s put on a show for Erik, shall we?”

Charles looks back at Erik, gives him a tiny reassuring smile. He’s half-sitting, half-lying on the edge of the bed now, braced on his elbows, Shaw standing too close between his spread legs for Erik’s liking. “Hey,” he says quietly.

Shaw grabs Charles by the hair, tugs his head back and leans in for a kiss. It goes on for too long, and Charles gasps when they finally break apart.

“Sebastian,” Charles says, “You’re not-” and then his eyes go wide when Shaw wraps a hand around his throat and squeezes, pushing him back down on the bed. The strands of his long hair fall about Erik’s feet as he writhes, and Erik should move out of the way, he doesn’t want to accidentally kick Charles in the face and make it worse for him, but he’s transfixed.

“Relax,” Shaw says, sounding amused. His arm twitches slightly, like he’s tightening his grip and Charles starts struggling in earnest. His hands fly up to feebly scrabble against Shaw’s hold on him but Shaw must be using his strength now, the way he’s barely fazed as Charles fingernails rake over his knuckles.

“ _Sebastian_ ,” Erik says, when Charles arms seem to go weak, falling down limply to his sides. His face is flushed red. “Sebastian, you’re going to kill him.”

For a long terrible moment, Shaw just ignores him and Erik thinks Shaw might actually mean to strangle Charles to death after all. But then Shaw laughs, finally lets go and Charles coughs, tries to roll away but Shaw easily pulls him back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Shaw’s voice is pleasant. “I wouldn’t kill you, you know that. I wouldn’t even let you faint on me, it’s no fun fucking someone who can’t fight back. But do try to stay awake till the end this time at least, won’t you?”

“You’re so demanding,” Charles says hoarsely. He’s still panting shallowly.

“And you never fail to live up to my expectations every time I see you,” Shaw says. “Strip.”

Erik stares at flex of the muscles of Charles’ back as he pulls off his shirt. He’s seen Charles naked before, but never like this. His back is scarred; there are silvery white lines crisscrossing across his shoulderblades, like a hundred thin scratches permanently marked into his pale skin.

He wonders if they’re Shaw’s work, or remnants of whatever past abuse Charles might had suffered before Shaw ever happened to him.

Erik knows scars. Whoever, whatever weapon caused Charles’ – whips, those are _whip_ scars, he’s sure -  they’d been deliberate. Cut deep enough, leave the wounds untreated long enough for the raw flesh to begin mending itself clumsily…

Shaw rips Charles’ shirt out of his hands, tosses it to the floor, then jerks at his pants when Charles hesitates. The material tears slightly and Charles winces at the rasp of the fabric, and Erik’s mouth goes dry when he realizes that Charles isn’t wearing anything else underneath.

“Too slow,” Shaw says disapprovingly. “You know I’m an impatient man, Charles.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles whispers. Shaw backhands him so hard that the crack of his fist over Charles’ cheek sounds like thunder. Erik surges up, worried, but Charles just bows and remains stubbornly silent.

“You deserved that,” Shaw says conversationally.

“I did,” Charles says, and fucking tilts his head for more. Shaw hits him again and this time Charles does cry out in pain, a small sound that feels like a rusty knife slicing through Erik’s guts.

And then Shaw turns to look at Erik. He smiles, a curling of his lips that don’t quite reach his eyes, then grips Charles by his chin.

“Go suck him off,” Shaw says.

He hauls Charles up, bodily shoves him over to Erik. Erik flushes as Charles lands in his lap, expanse of smooth, naked skin and lean muscle squirming against his crotch. Charles looks up at him, scarlet spreading rapidly over his freckled cheeks as their eyes meet, and Erik feels as though a wide chasm’s opening up beneath his feet and swallowing him whole.

“Charles,” Erik says.

Erik places comforting hands on Charles shoulders, steadying him as Charles leans down to nose at him through his pants, licking and mouthing at the bulge of his cock like he’s actually _eager_ to do it.

“Let me,” Charles says. He unbuttons Erik’s pants, delicately tugs the zipper down and pulls out his cock with slender, sure fingers. Looks up again at him and smiles. “Relax. You won’t hurt me.”

Erik’s hand inches down to loosely curl around the nape of Charles neck, and it feels so, so good the way Charles’ tongue darts out in tiny kitten licks around the head of his cock, briefly dipping into the slit and trailing up the sensitive underside. And it doesn’t even matter that Shaw’s standing over them, watching with one hand on his own cock, when Charles takes him into his mouth, bobbing his head shallowly up and down.

“Deeper,” Shaw says. “I want to see you choke,” and he pushes Charles down until his nose is buried in the wiry hair around the base of Erik’s cock, and it doesn’t even occur to Erik to protest when Charles’ throat flutters and tenses around his cock in a tight ring as he gags.

Shaw keeps Charles down, smacks him across his ass when he tries to push himself back up, and then does something that makes Charles thrash about as though in sudden pain. And Erik can’t help it the way his hips are thrusting up into the warm heat of Charles’ mouth, each moan and whimper an exquisite vibration around his cock.

“Keep sucking,” Shaw says. He’s still fully dressed.

He spreads Charles’s ass, and there’s a faint wet squelch as he abruptly sinks his fingers into him, rough and without finesse and it shows on Charles’ face, the way he stops sucking and instead lets out a sound of pained arousal.

Shaw’s not using any lube, Erik realizes, but his hand is slick and shiny when he withdraws it from Charles. Charles must have come prepared – must have been prepared every single time Shaw sent for him, and Erik feels a hot thrill at the thought that Charles must have been constantly open and loose, every time they’d met. Lube almost certainly leaking out his hole and dripping down the crease of his ass.

“Shit,” he mutters, and has to clutch at Charles for support. “Charles, fuck, give me a minute,” and breathes heavily, willing himself not to come too soon.

“You don’t need all this,” Shaw says. He wipes his lube-wet fingers over the small of Charles’ back, slips his hand back in to scrape out more of the lube that must be liberally coating Charles’ insides. “I’m not going to feel anything if you’re going to have all this shit in you. Besides, it’s always fun when it hurts, doesn’t it, Charles?”

“Yes,” Charles says obediently. He seems to tremble as he looks back at Erik. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Erik stops, takes another deep breath, “You’re really good, Charles.”

“Thanks.” Charles smiles. He lifts the bottom of Erik’s shirt, kisses the hollow dip of his navel. Gently bumps his nose down the trail of hair leading down to his cock, like all he wants to do is to lose himself in Erik’s scent.

Emboldened, Erik pulls Charles up, kisses him right on the lips. Charles tastes salty-sweet, like musk, and Erik finds he doesn’t care. Charles hums in delight and eagerly tilts his head as Erik kisses him again, a gentle line down his jaw and the side of his neck. 

“Want to mark you up so bad,” Erik murmurs, quietly enough that Shaw shouldn’t hear. He scrapes his teeth over a spot just below the curve of Charles’ jaw, and Charles shudders beautifully in his arms. 

“You’re ready,” Shaw suddenly says, and the moment between them is broken. Erik stares hazily at Shaw as he goes on, “Get on Erik, Charles.”

“Here.” Charles takes charge and Erik lets him. Guiding him to lie down on his back, then crawling up his legs and straddling him by the hips. Charles tosses his hair back and then he’s sinking himself down on Erik’s cock, only letting out a single, breathy moan of pleasure that he seems to quickly muffle.

Charles is tight, so fucking tight. His own cock bounces against his stomach as he fucks himself, and Erik jerks his own hips up like he can fuck himself further into the inviting, smooth heat.

“Good boys.” Shaw grins, climbs up to join them. “Now get down, Charles.”

Charles plasters himself over Erik, chest to chest. Erik’s almost regretting not taking his shirt off; he wants to feel Charles’ bare skin, run his hands over every inch of his body. But then Charles is going rigid, his mouth falling open in mild surprise.

“So fucking tight, Charles,” Shaw says, and brutally fucks in deeper.

Erik feels Shaw’s cock sliding in along his. It’s strange; Shaw’s never touched him, not even when Erik was young and highly impressionable. Erik still remembers when he’d used to look up to Shaw. A powerful, clever father figure to the young orphan he’d been.

He remembers always, constantly trying gratify Shaw’s maniacal whims, and the clawing sense of rejection every time he failed. The loneliness. The memories of all the times Shaw had screamed at him, taunted him…

“Shh, Erik, I’m here,” Charles says, kissing the angle of his jaw. And it’s almost like he’s drawing out all of Erik’s fear, soothing him with that simple press of lips against his stubble-roughened skin.

And Erik does relax, holds Charles close as he shakes and shivers as Shaw fucks him from behind. Shaw’s obviously hurting him, slaps him again when Charles tries to scramble away after a particularly rough thrust.

“There’s a case of bullets in my nightstand,” Shaw says, and Erik takes a while to realize he’s being addressed. “Get it out, make something to hold him down.”

Erik sits up. Charles collapses against him in a heap and he hesitates, but Charles hums a quiet, “It’s okay, Erik,” into his shirt, and he nods.

He easily finds the bullets. They’re not ordinary bullets; they’re heavy, full of metal.

Erik thinks, and then thick, gleaming cuffs shape themselves around Charles’ wrists. He makes them perfect, seamless circles of steel; the only way Charles is ever getting them off is if Erik removes them himself.

Because no matter what Shaw’s ever done to Charles – Charles is _his_.

Erik doesn’t bother looking to Shaw for approval. He twirls his fingers, and watches as Charles’ mouth drops into the most endearing little _o_ of surprise as his arms are wrenched behind his back, the cuffs smoothly welding themselves together.

“Erik,” Charles says, and he looks so trusting and serene and _perfect_ that the beast in Erik’s chest rears up in possessive jealousy.

“Excellent,” Shaw says, and repositions Charles back into place.

And this time when Shaw fucks back in, all Charles can do is press his face into the crook of Erik’s shoulder and Erik welcomes it. It’s perverse, sick but he loves the feeling of Charles – _his_ Charles, his smart, stunning Charles – reduced to an overstimulated, pliable mess of sweaty limbs and broken moans in his arms.

Shaw yanks Charles up by his hair, forcing him to arch his back. Charles can’t find the leverage to get away even if he had the strength to fight off Shaw’s hold on him, and Erik swells in wicked pride at the way Charles’ arms strain at his restraints.

Erik reaches up, brushes his fingers over the pert buds of Charles’ nipples, and Charles positively _yelps_ as though electrified, a gorgeous noise of shocked pleasure.

And it’s dizzying, the way every little detail feels magnified by the thousandfold. The way Charles’ naked body squirms, trapped between them. The way the corners of his lips twist when the friction gets too much for him. Every clench of his hot, overstretched hole around their cocks. 

Erik feels his balls tightening up, and he pulls himself out of Charles just in time to come, shooting fat globs of milky white over Charles’ soft, flat belly.

“Yes, Erik, that’s the way,” Shaw hisses, “Mark him up like the whore he is,” then flips Charles onto the bed next to Erik and starts pounding into him with even more force than before.

Erik lies back, vaguely dazed, listens as Shaw punches desperate noises out of Charles with every thrust. Shaw’s speaking to Charles as he fucks him, condescending filth that seems to make no sense to Erik right now.

He slowly drifts back to himself as he hears Shaw grunt. Turns over just in time to see Shaw coming, directing his cock over Charles’ ass and spurting over the dip of his back. 

Charles shifts slightly.

Shaw seems to recover remarkably fast. He tucks himself back in, gives Erik a wide smirk. “Can I count on you to do the usual?”

“I… Yes.” Erik sits up, watches as Shaw abruptly turns and leaves. He waits for his footsteps to fade in the distance, then says, “Charles?”

Charles seems to struggle as he tries to push himself up. His hands are still bound behind his back. “Erik,” he says, almost piteously, “Erik, get me off?”

His cock is still hard, swollen and beading precome at the tip. Erik wraps one arm around him to pull him in, tucking him under his chin. Spits into his other hand, curls it loosely around Charles.

Erik slowly glides his thumb over the shaft. Kisses the top of Charles’ sweaty hair, collects the precome dribbling out of his slit and uses it to slick up the rest of his cock.

“I’m so close,” Charles whispers. “Don’t tease me, please, Erik.”

One day, Erik’s going to hold him down, gently. Lavish tenderness and warm caresses all over Charles, tease him until he’s driven nearly out of his mind with pleasure before finally tipping him over the edge.

“Okay,” Erik says, and strokes him faster.

Charles comes silently, his body going rigid for a brief second before relaxing against him again. Erik holds him until his breathing tapers down to a slow, even rhythm, and even then he’s reluctant to let Charles unpeel himself from the awkward embrace.

“Let’s go,” Charles says.

 

 

 

Charles expressly refuses to tell Erik where he lives, so Erik leaves him by the side of the road. Erik’s not sure why it hurts him so much to see Charles like this – shivering slightly, wrapped up in an old, tatty coat and wincing with every step he takes.

He still stinks of sweat and sex. Erik tries not to think about how he’s still covered in dried come under his clothes. 

“Hey,” Charles says, as Erik’s just about to close the door and drive off, “There’s something I want you to have.”

He pulls something out from his pocket. It’s a thin, simple necklace, old and tarnished and terribly plain, but Erik holds out his hand for it anyway.

“Thanks,” he says.

“My father gave it to me,” Charles says softly, “Can you hold on to it for me? Just… Don’t let Sebastian know.”

“Sure.” Erik hesitates, then shakes the necklace out, undoes the clasp and puts it around his neck. The metal lies cool against his bare skin. “Thank you, Charles.”

Charles looks at him and smiles. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t explain why he’s giving Erik the necklace. “Goodbye, Erik.”

**Author's Note:**

> Basically an excuse to write sick twisted porn and what the fuck, self.


End file.
